Last night I kissed two boys who do not love me. Last night my thoughts rest in the front pocket of some man’s shirt, somewhere. I brushed the dust from my memories of your hands on my neck. I wrap flames around sticks to bring to my lips, my body’s miserable mistress. My blankets smell of dissatisfaction. Big buses carry small loads and if the sky gives up every once in a while, so be it. Laughter and alcohol are an empty cure for our fate.

Tonight I was supposed to fill out paperwork

Instead I wrote a poem

its hard to realize that i fell in love with you
when i barely knew you

the space that spreads our interactions contains no stars
through i found myself looking through telescopes at you
imagining there was life on your surface

i got close enough to know, what i had been looking at for so long
has been dead for years

these metaphors of celestial sights are just another example of how i am a girl that needs to go outside to fantasize

almost every song i listen to, i wish i wrote

every smile of yours, i wish i caused


so lets let infatuation die in reality's grip

but know my memories of brushed skin will have to die with the sun